


Taming Branch

by Dreamsinger



Category: Trolls (2016), Trolls: The Beat Goes On (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Poppy must earn the trust of the half-wild gray troll, Short Story, if I do there will probably be mature content such as fairly descriptive love scenes, possible alternate universe if I decide to expand this, prequel to the first Trolls movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamsinger/pseuds/Dreamsinger
Summary: Two years before the first movie, Poppy discovers a lone gray troll in the forest, elusive and shy, and makes it her mission to earn his trust and friendship.
Relationships: Branch/Poppy (Trolls)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 90





	Taming Branch

It was late afternoon. Princess Poppy of Troll Village was flying through the air, propelled with powerful thrusts of her springy hair higher and higher into the gladleaf tree in search of the last item she needed for the scavenger hunt, a red-and-pink rosetwirl flower. The tree was a fair distance beyond the edge of the land her people called home, but she had spotted a speck of red from a distance and wanted to investigate. 

_I was right! They_ do _grow on gladleaf trees!_

She tucked the flower into her hair with the other items she’d collected. Her hunt complete, the pretty pink troll stood serenely for a few minutes, letting the treetop breeze cool her. She pulled in deep breaths of the crisp air, enjoying the tickle of windy fingers through her sheaf of bright magenta hair. 

Down below, there was movement. Curious, Poppy watched as the foliage was pushed aside and a troll came into view. Her eyes popped. He had black hair. And gray skin. 

_Who is that?_

The gray troll’s movements were furtive, his head swiveling from side to side, ears twitching. His arm was looped through the handle of a woven basket half-full of nuts and berries. Poppy looked around her and spotted some big gladnuts growing nearby. She picked several, then used her hair to swing gracefully down to the ground behind him.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully.

The gray troll stiffened and spun around, his hair splitting into three dark spikes jutting in her direction and his hands flew up in front of him as if to ward off a blow. His fierce blue eyes were like ice, his teeth bared. She’d never realized that a troll was even capable of looking so fearsome.

She let out a squeal as her heart gave a jolt that sent her feet lurching backward all on their own. The next thing she knew she’d landed hard on her bottom in the grass. Her eyes bugged out as she reflexively clutched the gladnuts to her chest.

For a long moment, everything was still. The air was crackling with imminent energy. 

Then she noticed a slight smile at the corners of the gray troll’s lips, and he relaxed from his fighting stance as his hair resumed its former shape. Poppy gawked up at him, her alarm fading as curiosity fast took its place.

His velvety black hair was thick and strong, maintained at a height somewhat shorter than that of the average troll, with a pleasingly neat, level topline. While his hair gave the impression of a logical, organized mind, the impression was belied by the somewhat ragged chestnut-brown overalls that sported random patches in mismatched shades of green; somewhat unaesthetic to her scrapbooker’s eyes.

Aside from his unusual coloring he looked like a typical male troll, strong and sturdy, except that his ears were spread outward from his head. A few trolls had ears like that, such as her father, but… _Something about those ears looks strangely familiar..._

He was studying her too, a light frown creasing the corners of his eyes. Poppy waited for him to say something, but he merely continued to observe her, seemingly content with silence. After a minute, she couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Who are you?”

No response.

“Oh. I’m sorry; I’m Princess Poppy of Troll Village.”

Rather than reply with his own name, the gray troll looked to the side as if he wanted to avoid her gaze. Then he began to back slowly away from her and she suddenly sensed that he was moments away from disappearing back into the forest.

“Wait,” she said quickly. “Please don’t go.”

She remembered the nuts she carried and held them out to him, smiling hopefully. “I picked these for you.”

He’d started at her voice and involuntarily met her eyes again. This time she saw a flash of emotion she didn’t recognize at first hiding behind the ice wall of his eyes. 

_Scared. He’s scared._ She didn’t know why he was afraid, but it did something to her, deep inside. This troll was in distress, and Poppy was nothing if not responsive to others’ needs.

She crossed her legs under her so she could rise with some grace after her earlier stumble and held out the nuts to him. He didn’t reach for them, but he didn’t move away, either. She kept a reassuring smile on her face as she carefully walked toward him, holding the nuts before her as if to lure in a timorous foxfluff. The gray troll let her approach him and drop the nuts into the basket still slung on his arm. He watched her the entire time, but still he did not speak. 

Up close she noticed that he was a little taller than she, and his silhouette, with its dark hair, blocked out the sun so well that she felt as if she were looking up at a much taller troll. _Those ears…I know those ears. Tall as a tree. No, a…branch? His name is Branch._

A jumble of memories surfaced. A cranky yet devoted presence. A concerned voice, calling out warnings. A warm body, hugging her when she skinned her knees. A tower of night-black hair; the perfect hiding spot for hide-and-seek. 

“Branch? Is that you?”

Before he could answer, her watch went off with a cheerful _ting_ and a flash of vivid pink light. Poppy felt an automatic grin take over her face. “Hug time!” She opened her arms to embrace her old friend, only to close them on empty air as he stepped back, his face suddenly tense.

“Branch?” Puzzled, she opened her arms again, only to have him skip back, lightly, staying just out of reach as she walked forward. She stopped, tilting her head to one side, then reached for him again. Again he danced out of range of her fingertips, his movements graceful and noiseless.

 _Is this some kind of game?_

The wary look on his face said otherwise.

Confused, she stopped and lowered her arms. “Why don’t you want me to hug you?”

He frowned, then shrugged, the first response she’d gotten out of him so far.

Something in his behavior felt familiar, as if he was a skittish animal, unused to trollic contact. When was the last time she had seen him? She couldn’t remember. Not since she was a young trolling, at any rate. When was the last time _anybody_ had seen him, or talked to him? Could it be that he had avoided the company of other trolls for so long that he’d forgotten how to speak?

“Branch,” she asked gently, “Are you afraid of being hugged?”

Again, a small frown crossed his face. His mouth opened, and a quiet, slightly hoarse voice emerged. “No.”

He seemed to be embarrassed by that, clearing his throat and swallowing before adding in a somewhat clearer tone, “Just not used to it.” He shrugged again.

Gazing at him, Poppy felt the corners of her mouth turn down as an unaccustomed emotion washed over her. “How long has it been since anyone’s hugged you?”

His eyes glazed over for a long moment. “I don’t know. Six…seven years? Maybe longer?” Again he shrugged, as if it was no importance.

“Seven _years?_ That’s – that’s awful!” The strange feeling inside her intensified, and suddenly her face twisted, her lower lip pressing outward all on its own.

The gray troll’s eyes widened and his ears pressed back against the sides of his head. Slowly, he began to back away from her, as cautiously as if she were the wild animal whose actions he couldn’t predict.

She reached out a hand, but didn’t move to follow him, not wanting to alarm him any more than he already was. “Branch, wait. Please.” 

He stopped moving but seemed to be having a hard time meeting her eyes, glancing toward her and then away. Again, she got the impression that he was moments away from bolting, vanishing into the forest like a timid deerwing.

 _Something’s really wrong here. No troll should ever be like this._

“Branch. Do you remember me?” she asked as gently as she could.

He nodded. “You’re the princess. Poppy.”

“Okay, um…then I’d like to ask you to do something for me, if you don’t mind.”

Her eyes traveled over his rough, patched overalls, trying to think of a reasonable request that would help her figure out how to help him. Maybe her father would have some ideas.

“Could you meet me here, tomorrow, the same time as now?”

His dark eyebrows drew together, whether in puzzlement or annoyance she couldn’t tell, but eventually he nodded.

“Thank you, Branch.”

He nodded a final time, then turned and disappeared into the forest.

~*~

“Dad, today I met someone at the edge of the forest. The gray troll, Branch.”

“Really? I had no idea he was still around. No one’s seen him in years.”

“Why doesn’t he live in the village? I remember he used to, but I stopped seeing him around much when I was…around eleven, I think. That was eight years ago, Dad. What happened?”

“I don’t know, dear. When he was fifteen or so he decided he wanted to live apart from the rest of the village. Something about needing his own space. It seemed harmless enough, so I didn’t see any reason to object.”

She sat contemplatively, working things out in her mind while chewing gently on her lower lip. “Dad, I think there’s something wrong with him.”

Concern shone in her father’s big amber-brown eyes. “What is it, dear?”

“He’s…he’s not normal. He could hardly talk to me, could barely look me in the eye. When I tried to hug him he almost ran away.”

“That _is_ strange.” Her father stroked his mustache. “Branch was never the most congenial troll, even as a trolling. Like a lot of us, he lost family members to the bergens. I believe he’s the only one left now.”

“That’s…that’s really…sad.” It was not a word she used often. Sadness was rare and fleeting in trolls, whose joyful society revolved around customs that promoted good fellowship and celebration of life on a daily basis. 

Her father chuckled. “Branch was the type of troll who was never satisfied with half-measures. Like another troll I could mention,” he reached out to ruffle the magenta hair she’d inherited from him, making her smile, “he always did his best. He was always busy, working on some project or other; trying to come up with a way to measure rainfall, or working with forest creatures to adapt their abilities to our needs, that sort of thing.”

“Really?” She brightened. “That’s interesting.”

“It is true, though, that he had a habit of, well, arguing. And complaining.”

“Right.” Now she was recalling past conversations with Branch, who had indeed been difficult to talk to sometimes. He could be kind, she recalled, but he’d also had trouble getting along with other trolls, and at some point he’d somehow faded out of her life.

“And…” Her father’s eyes looked faraway, into a darker past. “He had some odd concerns regarding the safety of the village.”

“What concerns?”

“Well, mainly he was worried that the bergens would find us. He thinks they’re still looking for us.”

“The bergens? Really?” Her forehead wrinkled. “But no one’s seen a bergen since we escaped from them, right? That was eighteen years ago. If they were going to find us, they’d have done so a long time ago.”

“I know, dear, and I agree with you, but that is what he believes.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome, Poppy. So what are you going to do now?”

“I asked him to meet with me tomorrow. I just – I just can’t believe that he’s happy, Dad. Not like that, all alone.”

“Maybe he just needs to get used to being with other trolls again. Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?”

She hesitated. “No…not right now, anyway. You didn’t see him, Dad. He looked like some kind of half-wild forest creature. I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“All right, dear. Then I will leave this matter to you. Let me know if you need any help.”

She hugged him, needing his reassurance even though it wasn’t Hug Time. “Thank you, Daddy.”

~*~

The next day, the pink princess stood nervously at the edge of the forest, clutching a basket of treats she had brought, things that she hoped might remind him of happier days. She had rarely been beyond the borders of the village and kept jumping at the unfamiliar animal sounds, especially those made by things much larger than the various bugs and tiny critters that helped the trolls around the village.

This time, she had left her Hug Time watch at home so as not to freak him out again.

Her twitching ears caught a faint whisper of his approach just as he stepped into view. With the sun behind him her attention was immediately drawn to his ears, graceful translucent wings of muted blue-green.

Was that his true color? Light blue, or aquamarine, maybe? Trolls became gray when they were feeling unhappy, but as far as she knew, it was only temporary. She had never heard of anyone becoming permanently gray before.

Why was he still gray? Suddenly desperately curious, she pressed her lips together, instinctively knowing this wasn’t the time to remind him of past pain. 

“Hello, Branch. It’s nice to see you again,” she said in a friendly voice, as if speaking to a trolling.

“Hello. Princess Poppy.” His voice sounded a little smoother today, as if he’d practiced vocalizing for their meeting.

“Just ‘Poppy’ is fine,” she replied, sorting through her memories of him. Even though she had spoken to him when she was a trolling, it almost seemed like the grumpy, fussy big-brother persona she remembered was a different troll than the diffident stranger before her.

He nodded silently, then seemed to catch himself. “Poppy,” he said aloud, his tone soft and shy.

What was he thinking? He was watching her carefully, not with fear, exactly, but more as if he wasn’t sure what to expect from her. Exactly the same way she felt toward him. 

Both spoke simultaneously. 

“What did you want me to-”

“This is awkward, isn’t-”

Poppy chuckled, and Branch looked startled for a moment, but then he seemed to relax slightly, although he didn’t smile.

She remembered the basket hung on her arm. “I, um, well, I brought you something.” She hoped the food would set him at ease. It had worked yesterday, at any rate.

She caught a hint of curiosity in his eyes and handed him the basket. “I hope you like it.”

She watched, thoroughly pleased with herself as he opened the wooden lid, studied the contents, then reached in and lifted out a chocolate brownie with gladnuts. He looked up at her questioningly. 

“Go on, try it.”

He lifted it to his mouth, sniffed it, his large purple-gray nose twitching, then sank his teeth into the soft, rich, chocolately goodness. Slowly, he chewed, his eyes closing and his ears drooping just a little from their alert pose. 

He finished it in three bites, running his tongue around his teeth to catch any leftover trace of sugary sweetness. 

“How was it?” she asked eagerly. 

“Good.” He swallowed. “Sweet. Been a while since I had something that sweet.”

“Really? What do you normally eat?”

“Natural foods. Nuts, berries, fruit. Eggs. Fish. Acorns. Roots…”

“Don’t you ever eat anything sweet?” She asked him mostly because she had the feeling that he would go on listing every type of food he’d ever eaten.

“Yes. I make grains into gruel, or pancakes sometimes, with berries. Sometimes a little honey. Or jelly.”

“That sounds good. Have you ever tried chocolate chips?”

“Yes, once in a while. I have a stockpile-” He cut himself off, his eyes going wide as if he’d said more than he meant to, and then eyeing her with suspicion. “Why?”

She blinked. “No reason. Just making conversation.”

His mouth tightened, but he said no more.

_Aaand the conversation dies._

Poppy looked down, swinging her arms uncomfortably before saying, “Sorry if I said something that upset you.” Her voice had gone husky, as it often did when she was feeling emotional.

His tense shoulders relaxed, a faintly apologetic look on his face. He looked down and seemed to notice the basket, still looped over his forearm. “Would…would you like one?”

“Sure.” She reached in, leaving everything that contained chocolate for him, and pulled out a small sweetmint lollipop. “Thank you, Branch.” She tucked the pop into her cheek so she could still talk to him.

This time she caught a hint of a smile on his face. “What?”

“I remember. You always liked mint candy.”

“That’s right!” She grinned at him, noticing that his eyes seemed warmer now than they had yesterday, as if the ice wall had melted a little, just enough to show a hint of summer sky.

He stood there, not exactly smiling but with the same kindly look in his eyes that she remembered from her trollhood. She wanted to ask him why he had left the village, but something told her he wasn’t ready yet, so she sought a safer topic.

“You know, Branch, you have very interesting clothing. I’ve never seen that style before,” she said politely, even though the dull colors were not very pretty to her.

“Camouflage,” he explained. “Patches on my overalls make them look like the forest floor.”

“Oh, really?” She squinted at the somewhat scruffy brown-and-green clothes, not exactly convinced but also not wanting to hurt his feelings. “That’s a cool idea.”

“It is?”

“Sure. Camouflage…” The artist in Poppy stirred and she gazed unseeingly off into the distance as a hazy idea took shape behind her eyes. 

“Princess Poppy? Poppy?”

Sky blue eyes were staring into hers, their edges crinkling with concern. She started and he jumped back a pace, his skittishness from yesterday returning. 

“Sorry for zoning out like that.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “I do that sometimes when I have a good idea and need to work out the details.”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t do that here. It’s not safe.”

Suddenly she felt like a small child again, being lectured by a concerned adult. In fact, hearing his voice made her realize that the voice of caution she’d always had in the back of her mind belonged to him! Of course, she’d had a lot of practice ignoring that voice, but still…

“I knew you would keep me safe,” she said blithely. “Thanks for caring, Branch.”

His eyes widened and she caught the faint hint of lavender blush on his gray cheeks as he glanced away, adorably embarrassed. 

After a minute, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So. You needed something?" 

“Oh…yes.” _What did Dad say?_ “I wanted to ask your opinion about, um, the bergens.”

 _Wrong topic._

For the next twenty minutes she had to sit through a spiel of warnings, supposed information and sheer speculation that would put the worst gossips in the village to shame. Poppy was soon straining to hold an expression of polite interest. Once he began to repeat himself, she realized that he might go on all night. 

Thankfully, the setting sun gave her the perfect excuse. “Thank you, Branch. I’ll think about what you’ve said, but it’s getting dark and you said it’s not safe here.”

He tensed up as he looked around. For all his talk about safety, he’d obviously forgotten where they were. “Right. Uh, sorry.”

He began to hand her back the basket of snacks, but she waved a hand in the air. “Keep them; they’re for you. I can get the basket back later.”

“Later?”

“Well, yes. Same time tomorrow?” She would just have to try to steer the conversation to more pleasant topics.

He gave her a long look, biting his lower lip, then said, “Okay. But maybe somewhere else?”

She giggled. “Right.” She suggested one of the gardens on the outskirts of the village that was lying fallow this season, so they would be unlikely to see any other trolls in the area.

He nodded and began to turn to leave. 

“Branch, wait.” Poppy put a hand on his bare forearm, but she’d barely made contact before he whipped his arm away. His face was turned away from her, as if unable to meet her eyes.

Hurt at the rejection and upset with herself for forgetting about his nervous nature, she took a deep breath and said in a quiet voice, “I’m really glad I met you again, Branch.”

His black hair dipped in a nod, and then he was gone.

~*~

Late into the night Poppy worked hard to fulfil her idea. She did not mention anything about Branch to her friends, even though she wanted their help and advice, for she knew that none of them could resist the idea of trying to help the troll who didn’t want to be hugged any more than she herself could. Poppy had never had to earn anyone’s trust before, but somehow she understood that Branch would never trust her again if a group of loud, cheery trolls all descended on him tomorrow, arms spread wide.

When at last she was finished, she used her hair to lift her creation into the air, studying the green, leafy vest with a discerning eye. She wasn’t an expert seamstress like the twins, but she hoped her gift would please him.

 _Am I making a mistake? Would he be happier if I left him alone?_ But the memory of the way his eyes had lit up while explaining his pet theories had left her with a deep-seated certainty. 

_There’s no way I’m gonna leave you alone, Branch. I’ve never seen any troll so in need of company._

At least she understood better now why he was so on edge all the time. In his mind, the bergens were a real threat, an imminent danger, and with no one to reassure him otherwise those fears had magnified all out of proportion.

He needed her. And he needed to be around other trolls, to have fun and participate in normal, everyday activities that would give him something positive to think about instead of the fears he obsessed over. He needed to sing and dance. For a start, he needed to hug and be hugged.

And Poppy was just the troll for the job.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this fic when I woke up from a dream over a year ago, where Poppy kept trying to hug Branch and he kept skipping back away from her, lightly, like a butterfly, or Bambi or something. He's not afraid, he just...doesn't want to be touched. It was like watching a theater performance, with the two of them interacting in a graceful dance. It might even look as if he's playing hard to get, or teasing her, with playful clarinet music in the background. It was such a powerful scene that I started writing the minute I got up.
> 
> I wanted to show that he's not exactly scared of her - I watched the first movie carefully to see whether Branch ever showed signs that he was afraid of being around the other trolls, because with his highly vigilant, untrusting personality, you'd think he would be as paranoid about his fellow trolls as he is about the bergens, (this has always struck me as a discrepancy in the movie - why is someone so wary of danger so unafraid of being around creatures as unpredictable as trolls?) but the only time he shows something akin to fear is during the Hug Time scene where they mass-hug him. So in Taming Branch I was trying to show that he wasn't afraid she would hurt him, only that he was afraid of interacting with her.
> 
> The rest of his persona was my idea of what someone so isolated would be like. He wouldn’t talk aloud very much, speaking in short, clipped sentences when he bothered to speak at all. I almost went the route Poppy thought at first, that he’s forgotten how to speak, but movie Branch was far too articulate. Also we know he created beautiful poetry, so he definitely thinks in words in his head.
> 
> I have some ideas for a continuation of this story, after I finish up my main story, Picturebook Romance. Although I might just make the rest of this story an alternate universe where the bergens are still a threat, Poppy isn’t the queen (yet), she gradually reforms the half-wild troll she met in the forest, they fall in love and then disaster strikes…
> 
> Thanks so much to Plzplz for the Hug Therapy idea from her fantastically passionate, angsty drama Heat Wave, on Archive of Our Own, which has been a welcome influence for Taming Branch.


End file.
